


promise me (you'll give faith a fighting chance)

by supersandluthors



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Angst, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Lots of Angst, Step Up AU, because im incapable of writing anything else :), but happy endings all around don't worry, chunky highlights whale tails and akon! what more could you ask for, its the early 2000s baby!! anything could happen!!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2019-04-14 10:56:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14134629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supersandluthors/pseuds/supersandluthors
Summary: “Do you always dress like Avril Lavigne?”“Who?”“Avril Lavigne? You know, Sk8r Boi? Complicated?”“Is this some sort of code? Am I supposed to understand what you’re saying, or did you just activate some Russian sleeper agent?”Ava lets out a huff that has Sara guessing that she’s definitely supposed to know what she’s talking about.“Avril Lavigne is a singer, like, a pop punk singer, and you look like an extra out of one of her music videos.”Sara smirks as Ava reaches down to the floor to grab a water bottle out of her dance bag.“You think I have the body for music videos?”Or the step up au nobody asked for





	1. there you are my darling

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys it's ya girl !! This au is the only things consuming my thoughts rn so I thought I'd actually write something out this time! Title is taken from the song I hope you dance by Lee Ann Womack, exerpt from the short story is from Katherine Mansfield's The Canary, I own none of these characters etc. etc. etc.

Parties were never really Zari’s scene.

If she’d had it her way, she’d be holed up in her room in her smaller than average brownstone apartment yelling into her headset as she gunned down aliens on her Xbox 360.

But tonight, she has no such luck.

The townhome that this particular party occupies is bigger than it appears on the outside. The pounding music making the windows rattle and the mass of bodies making it hard to breathe while navigating the crowds. Finally spotting the face she was looking for, Zari ducks in between two girls stumbling down the stairs and beelines over to a line of chairs by the windows that overlooked the Starling City Bay.

“Mick this party is a bust, wanna take a lap?”

Mick for his part looks calmer than she expected him to as he pulls his face out of some obviously drunk girl’s neck and throws Zari a glare.

“Does it look like I need to take a lap?”

Zari rolls her eyes and moves closer to the pair who at one point may have been occupying two chairs but were now situated into one.

“This place is whack, like I get that we have to show our faces for business and everything but they ran out of food an hour ago and you know I can’t handle these things on an empty stomach,” Zari whines in the voice she know will get under Mick’s skin, “Plus none of the girls are even cute, we made our appearance I don’t understand why we’re staying longer than we have to.”

The girl spilling her drink onto Mick’s lap finally looks at Zari and raises an offended eyebrow. 

“Who is this anyway?” her voice is annoying, too nasally and absolutely _reeking_ of privilege, Zari would’ve been able to clock her as out of place even if she wasn’t wearing 4,000 dollar Jimmy Choo’s.

“My idiot friend” Mick growls out in answer, this time standing up from his seat and unceremoniously dumping his newfound friend into the chair next to them in the process.

The girl looks pissed and grabs her purse before walking away with an overexaggerated huff and Zari has to stop herself from laughing as Mick mumbles angrily under his breath.

By the look on his face Zari knows she’ll be getting an earful of it on their way home, but she reasoned it would be worth it to actually _be_ on their way home instead of holed up in a poorly repurposed drug den in the Glades.

“Dude it’s almost 2, there’s no more food, and I’m bored. Ooh let’s grab Sara and hit up the Waffle House on 49th, where is she anyway?”

Mick sighs heavily and cracks his knuckles in the way that he knows makes Zari cringe and motions with his head to follow after him.

“You know damn well where Sara is.”

 

 

Parties were definitely Sara’s scene.

There was something about a small space packed with bodies and booze that got her heart pumping and the adrenaline racing through her veins.

She’s tipsy and red faced as she pops and locks her body around a girl that had been eyeing her all night before she asked her to dance. The girl is hot, dark hair, dark eyes, and able to keep up with Sara in a way most others can’t as she bops to the beat of some new Akon song that’s blasting through the speakers lining the first level of the house.

Her sister used to say that her bones were made of rubber, that there was no way any human body should be able to move like she could and therefore Sara was probably an alien baby their mom and dad had picked up off the side of the road.

She rolls her body and perches on the tips of her toes, her ratty converse scuff against the floor as she spins behind the girl and pulls her hips to slot into her own, grinding more intensely as the song swells. The hat on her head is slicked with sweat and she takes it off to flick her hair back out of her face, rolling the hat down one arm in the process and tossing a wink at her dance partner.

Sara’s hands are traveling up the girl’s hips to rest on the bared skin of her mid drift when a rough hand spins her around to face a burly guy with a scraggly beard in an ill-fitting muscle tank.

“How bout you get off my girl and go find your own Lance,” he snarls. His breath reeks of cheap whiskey and cigarette smoke, and Sara gags as the smell hits her nose.

Michael Matthews was a nobody wannabe thug who was trying to play bookie for some low level drug dealer Sara can’t remember the name of, how he even got invited to this party was beyond Sara’s current level of comprehension.

“How bout you go take a breath mint and a Xanax Matthews, and while you’re gone, try to remember that women are people, not property, and are in fact, capable of making their own decisions.”

The crowd around them oohs and Sara feels the tug of a smirk dancing on her lips as he flushes red. She cracks a smile as the vein in his forehead bulges and he steps closer to her.

“You’d better watch your mouth blondie,” he’s close enough now that his spit hits Sara on the chin and her smirk leaves her face as her jaw tightens.

“Or what creep?”

The answer comes in the form of a fist flying toward her face but he’s slow and clumsy and Sara dodges it easily, stepping back gracefully and laughing when he stumbles.

Her body is like water as she weaves in and out of the blows he tries to land. She delivers one swift jab to the middle of his face and she feels his nose crack underneath her palm and a warm rush of blood seep onto her fingers.

He howls in pain as he holds his now broken nose and his greasy friends attempt to hold him back.

She’s about to move forward again when she feels a pair of hands on her own shoulders drag her toward the door.

“You’ll pay for this Lance,” he yells as she struggles against the arms holding her back, at least she thinks that’s what he says, his voice is garbled, and his L’s muted from the damage she’d done.

“It’s not worth it Cap, let’s get out of here,” she hears Zari’s voice in her ear and she turns toward the door and stalks out into the night.

She’s almost a block away when a pair of large hands turn her back around to face her friends.

“What the hell were you thinking back there? You can’t pick a fight with every one of Dahrk’s goons that you come across or you’re going to get us all killed,” Mick grunts as he lets go of Sara’s shoulders.

Her face twists in confusion and her jaw sets as her eyes snap back and forth between Zari and Mick.

“What do you mean? Matthews is running with Dahrk now? I thought he was a bookie for that low-life drug dealer, what’s his name, the tall guy with red hair and the weird birthmark on his neck.”

“Todd M.” Zari supplies with quick snap of her fingers. “No wait, Todd M. is the guy that sells bootleg Britney Spears CDs out of the back of his car, Todd H. is drug dealer Todd.”

“That’s not the point,” Mick grumbles, grabbing ahold of Sara’s shoulders once again, “If you give Nora Dahrk anymore reason to come after you, we’ll all end up dead. Not even Jax’s protection will be able to save us from her and her devil of a father, so next time, no beating the shit out of a guy until we know we won’t end up at the bottom of the god damn bay for it.”

Sara lets out a sigh and her shoulders deflate slightly. Logically she knows Mick is right, Nora Dahrk is ruthless and overly emotional, a combination that has had more than enough of her enemies swimming with the fish or worse, but the emotional side of her celebrated silently that one of her goons took a beating at her hands today, even if it was some soft headed nobody like Mike Matthews.

“Yeah, yeah whatever no more fighting, blah blah blah, let’s just go, it’s fucking cold out here.”

They walk the familiar path back toward their neighborhood and soon enough the mood is light hearted again. Sara is still riding her buzz as Zari sings terribly off key and tries to imitate Sara dancing before the fight broke out.

“And then she was all ooh, ahh, shimmy shimmy up on the tip toes,”

“I do _not_ shimmy,” Sara whines indignantly as Mick nearly trips over himself watching Zari girl do a series of pelvic thrusts.

“You guys are insufferable,” she mutters, picking an empty can up off the ground. She tosses the can at Zari’s head in protest as she continues to leap around and wave her arms sporadically.

Zari yelps and laughs as Mick and Sara try to peg her with the cans littering the road, but she twists and dodges their halfhearted attempts.

Mick grunts as he throws one particularly hard in Zari’s direction but she dodges again, causing the can to instead shatter the window of the large brick building behind her.

“Shit! Shit shit shit!”

The window is busted beyond repair, only a few shards of glass remain stuck to the frame and Sara kicks those in too, careful not to catch her ankles on the remaining fragments.

“Wait guys, I know this place, I’m pretty sure it’s a school or something,” Zari says as she slips to the ground and swings her way through the window.

“Z get out of there we gotta go, we don’t know if this place has alarms,” Sara calls into the window but Zari keeps walking forward toward a flight of winding stairs.

“C’mon guys let’s check it out!”

Sara sighs as Mick swings his way through the window too and she grudgingly follows after them, narrowly missing the pile of glass at the bottom of the drop.

The hallway they find themselves in is wide and clean, white tile lines the floor and glass cases filled with old photos and pieces of art line the walls leading up what looks to be the main corridor.

“This place looks like a museum,” Sara muses as they continue toward a pair of large mahogany double doors at the center of the foyer.

“Nah cap, look at this.”

Mick shines the light of his keychain flashlight onto a plaque that reads “Starling City School of the Arts.”

“Told you it was a school.”

Zari checks the locks on the doors quickly and finds that they swing open into a large ornate auditorium that looks more like something that should be on Broadway than in some school in Starling.

The auditorium had to seat close to 2,000 people, the balconies were stacked in threes and cushy chairs lined the entirety of the room, the only part of the plush red carpet visible coming from the aisles.

“Looks like a school for a bunch of stuck up rich people if you ask me,” Mick grunts as he climbs the stairs of the large stage at the front of the room.

The stage is covered in props and costumes for what looks to be some sort of play. Sara runs her hands over a marble bust of some Greek looking guy and jumps up onto a small platform surrounded by marble columns.

“Figaro, Figaro, Fi-ga-rooo,” she sings purposefully off key as she twists gracefully through the columns and leaps back onto the main stage.

Zari stumbles when Sara lands next to her and reaches out instinctively to catch herself, but instead grabs the marble bust and sends it careening onto the floor with a bang.

A laugh bubbles up Sara’s throat as she watches Zari flounder to put the shattered pieces that now covered the ground back together.

She can’t remember the last time she felt this carefree, she attributes the feeling to the alcohol, and she reaches out to knock over another column, sending it smashing into the stage floor next to the remnants of the bust.

Sara bursts and the laughs tumble from her lips, loud and bright. Soon enough Mick and Zari are joining her and they’re all sending the props flying through the air and tumbling into the seats of the empty audience.

Mick is wrapped up in a purple robe spouting out something about honor and Sara giggles as she pokes him in the chest with a cardboard sword. He dramatically sinks to his knees and Zari holds him tightly in her arms.

“Oh Mick why? Why? Gone from this earth so young,” and she throws herself dramatically over his body, pretending to weep in earnest, “whatever will we tell mother?”

Sara is so caught up in the bubble of happiness they’ve forged around themselves that she doesn’t hear the pounding of footsteps getting closer and closer until it’s too late.

A rotund, greying security guard tackles Mick to the ground. Zari quickly jumps to her feet and watches in shock as Mick wrestles with the guard for his freedom.

“Run Z!” Sara yells brusquely, trying to snap her attention back to reality and get her friends out of here.

The blonde grabs one of the only props that’s still intact and throws it at the security guard, stunning him long enough for Mick to kick free and join Zari halfway up the aisle toward the exit.

“Sara!”

Before she can turn around the guard has her pinned to the ground face first, her legs caught under his knees and her wrists firmly in his grip.

“Go! Get out of here now!” her voice is gruff as the security guard shoves her further into the cold ground in an attempt to muffle her.

Zari and Mick hesitate for a moment before nodding and high tailing it out of the auditorium and hopefully back out into the night.

Sara struggles to pull in breaths as the guard snaps handcuffs around her wrists and grabs her by the collar of her cut off t-shirt.

“Well well well, little missy, looks like someone’s night is about to get a whole lot worse.”

 

 

Jail was definitely not Sara’s scene.

The holding cells always smelled vaguely of vomit and pot and the too bright lights flickered and hummed just enough to be a constant annoyance. She’d nearly memorized all of the slogans of the inspirational posters that lined the walls of the dingy hall outside of the cells.

Real integrity is doing the right thing, knowing that nobody’s going to know if you did it or not.

Click it or ticket Starling, driving without a seatbelt is against the law.

A leader is one who knows the way, goes the way, and shows the way.

Real integrity is-

The cell doors clank open and a tired looking officer calls her name and escorts her out into the open area of the precinct.

She says a silent thank you to whatever higher being was out there that she only had to be in the holding cells for a few hours, just long enough for the courts to open up and for a state appointed lawyer to show up, gas station coffee in hand and callous frown in place.

“I see this is not your first time in this courtroom Miss Lance.”

Sara rolls her eyes at the judge looking down on her with a mixture of annoyance and pity painting his features. He was middle aged and weary looking; a smudge of white decorated the collar of his black robes making Sara think he probably had a donut for breakfast. The last thing she needed from _anyone_ was pity, let alone some pudgy judge in juvenile court that couldn’t give a damn about her or any of the other kids that came through his courtroom.

“Where is your foster mother Miss Lance?”

Sara glances at the clock on the far side of the too stuffy chambers and squints to read it.

“It’s 7 o’clock? Probably just getting home from work,”

“Are your foster parents aware of your whereabouts?”

She shrugs her shoulders and leans deeper into the too small wooden chair, feeling it creak as it tips slightly backward.

The judge, The Honorable Judge James Baxter she reads on his bronze name placard, sighs and rubs his eyes underneath his glasses and Sara has to stifle a sympathetic yawn in response. She’s been up for over 48 hours and all she really cares about is getting out of here and crawling into a bed.

Judge Baxter bangs his gavel against the podium and her lawyer pulls her to her feet roughly. She huffs as she straightens out her shirt and shakes his arm off of her with the best sneer she can muster.

“I’ll give you a choice Miss Lance, 200 hundred hours of community service at the sight where the crime occurred, or 6 months jail time. I’ll give you a few moments to think it over.”

“I’ll take the community service,”

_Like there’s even a choice._

The gavel sounds sharply again, and he signs off quickly on a slip of paper before handing it to the bailiff.

“You are to report to Director Hunter at the Starling City School of the Arts every day after school gets out at 3:30 sharp, Next!”

 

 

Sara tells herself she doesn’t mind that it takes Karen four hours to pick her up from the court house. It gives her time to take a quick fitful nap on one of the benches in the back by the water fountains.

When she finally arrives at the court house around lunch time, she scans the corridor quickly before her eyes land on Sara and she can see her visibly deflate.

The weight that had been sitting on her chest drops into her stomach as her foster mom crosses the room with a sad smile dancing across her lips.

“What’d you get this time kid?”

“200 hours community service,” she says gruffly, not meeting the woman’s eyes.

“You’ve had worse,” Karen says, hip checking Sara and making her crack the barest hint of a smile.

“Yeah, I guess. Lucky it happened now and not in 3 months, I don’t think I’m ready to go to big kid jail.” And she really wasn’t. Any time at Iron Heights was almost certainly signing her own death warrant, the Dahrks ran the game in there, almost every guard and prisoner alike securely in their pockets. Sara shivered at the thought.

Karen looked stricken, like she wanted to say something or reach out for some sort of physical contact, but as always, she stopped herself last minute, giving Sara a small reserved smile instead.

“Let’s get you home.”

 

 

Sara’s room is bone chillingly cold as she settles into her twin bed, she blames the early onset of winter that always seems to hit in mid-October and the fact that she’d accidentally left her window open when sneaking out the previous night.

She closes it shut from her perch on the mattress and grabs the portable CD player that’s stashed under her pillow. She presses play quickly and lays back onto her pillows, the music that blares through her headphones is loud, the steady beat keeping time with her pulse and slowly easing the tension out of her shoulders and neck.

_“Snap back to reality, oh there goes gravity oh, there goes rabbit, he choked he's so mad, but he won't give up that easy? No, he won't have it, he knows his whole back city's ropes it don't matter…”_

She nods along lazily as the chorus swells and the rhythms make her eyes droop further and further shut.

She likes rap music, likes how it tells a story, likes how real those stories are.

She’d never really been into the music scene before moving out to the Glades to live with her foster family. She’d always been aware of it, enjoyed it even, the way her dad would croon along to the classic rock station as he drove her to school in his old police cruiser. They way her mom would spin around the kitchen while cooking dinner, Dolly Parton flowing from the old radio that sat atop their refrigerator.

The way Laurel would play peppy 80’s synth pop as she danced around their shared room telling Sara vehemently that one day she was gonna dance in the music videos like they did on MTV.

But none of it was anything like the music that her friends out here lived for.

Jax was actually the first one to give her a CD (before that she’d only had one Bon Jovi CD that she’d stolen from her dad long before the accident) and he’d given her Enter the Wu-Tang (36 Chambers). Told her that it’d change her life.

And it did.

She’d always loved stories. The happy ones, the sad ones, the painfully tragic ones, whether they were in a song or in a book she loved the feeling of drifting off to another place. She’d loved them best when Laurel would read them to her.

_“Tell me one more, just one more before bed,”_

_Laurel had rolled her eyes, but Sara knew she was immune to the pout, just as her mother and father had been before her._

_“Fine one more, but just one. And I get to pick.”_

_“No fair! it’d better be the canary one Laurel,”_

_She knew it’d be the canary one, they always ended with the canary story, but Laurel pretended to contemplate anyway, scanning her eyes over the mostly barren bookshelf before scooping up what Sara knew was the well-worn book of short stories and starting to read._

_“You see that big nail to the right of the front door? I can scarcely look at it even now and yet I could not bear to take it out. I should like to think it was there always even after my time. I sometimes hear the next people saying, 'There must have been a cage hanging from there.' And it comforts me. I feel he is not quite forgotten.”_

_Laurel’s voice was like honey dripping over her tired ears, thick and sweet and warm enough to make her eyelids flutter even as she tried her damnedest to stay awake._

_“…Perhaps it does not a matter so very much what it is one loves in this world. But love something one must!”_

_Sara feels fingers scrape the loose bangs out of her eyes as she trails off not quite getting to the end of the story as they never seem to do._

_“You love me more than that lady loves her bird?” She’d asked blearily, trying to stay awake until her sister had to inevitably go, leaving Sara alone once again._

_“I’ll always love you more than some old lady could ever love a bird, you’re my own little annoying canary,” she’d said while ruffling her hair and pulling the covers up tighter under her chin._

_“I love you too Laurel.”_

 

 

The Starling City School of the Arts looked even fancier and more expensive in the daylight.

Sara wanders slowly through the crowded halls looking for Director Hunter’s office and trying and failing to avoid bump ins with the various instrument cases the students are towing around.  

She steps around the corner and sees what she can only assume is the office. It’s encased in floor to ceiling windows and locked behind a large mahogany door which, if you asked Sara, seems a little redundant. If someone wanted to break in they’d need only shatter one of the many windows.

“Miss Lance, I presume,”

The man is tall, thin, and decidedly more European than Sara had expected him to be.

“That’s me.”

“Yes, well if you could step this way with me, I’m sure we have plenty to chat about.”

He leads them from the lobby like area back into his main office that overlooks a set of basketball courts.

“You may sit if you so please Miss Lance.”

Sara looks down at the pricey looking leather chairs and sits delicately on the edge of one, careful that her studded belt doesn’t scrape against the cushion.

“We both know why you’re here,” he says seriously, taking a swig of something from a stainless steel travel mug, “But do you really understand the consequences of your actions?”

Sara studies him apprehensively for a moment, not quite understanding what kind of answer he was looking for.

“Uh, 200 hours community service?”

Sara judges by his sigh that that wasn’t the answer he was looking for.

“The amount of damage you did was about what it takes to fund one student’s scholarship to this school.”

He looks at her expectantly again as if that’s supposed to flip some kind of switch in her and make her understand.

“You’ve cost someone their future Miss Lance, is there anything you’d like to say about it?”

And really what was the big deal if some rich kid from the suburbs didn’t get to go to music school, it wasn’t like they’d never get any other opportunities.

“Uh, sorry I guess.”

He throws her another distasteful look and she tries hard to comprehend how she’s being made to feel like she’s disappointing this man she’s known for all of 10 minutes.

“You’re to report here at my office every day at 3:30, the court order says you get out of school at 3 just down the street so there should be no excuses for tardiness, do I make myself clear?”

“Yeah,” she mumbles not quite meeting him in the eyes, the sooner she could get out of here the better.

“And next time for the love of everything that is holy, could you please wear something more appropriate?”

She looks down at herself and cocks a confused eyebrow, she wasn’t wearing anything out of the ordinary, her coral cropped baseball tee sat just above her bellybutton and her cargo pants didn’t exactly scream inappropriate.

“What do you mean?”

He gave her a disbelieving look and sputtered confusedly.

“Miss Lance, your undergarments are hanging out of the back of your trousers.”

She has to suppress laughter as she hooks a finger under the strap of the black thong that’s peeking out of the back of her pants. “Do you have a problem with fashion?” she asks seriously, this is what she wears to school on a regular basis, “this is the 2000’s for christ’s sake, I thought we left dress codes in the 90’s”

“I have a _problem_ with the breaking of the rules which, yes, do include a dress code, now if you’ll follow me please.”

He leads her briskly out of the offices, through the large mahogany door and down another hall toward an open closet door where a man in a pair of stained navy coveralls stands with a mop in hand.

Sara blanches at the foul smell of the water emanating from the bucket.

“Sara this, is Mr. Jordan, Mr. Jordan meet Miss Sara Lance your new, um, intern.”

The janitor looks more excited than Sara has ever seen maybe anyone and puts a latex glove covered hand out for her to shake.

“Howdy there Sara sure is a pleasure to make your acquaintance! Don’t worry Rip we’ll get her suited up and washin windows in no time.”

Which is how Sara found herself milling the halls of a fancy ass school tying up garbage bags and throwing them into the dumpster she was pushing around.

She stops outside a huge room lined with mirrors that’s filled to the brim with leotard clad people standing in lines of five. Some bohemian style drum music was playing as the lines of dancers took turns performing an 8 count of moves, twisting and leaping to the beats as an instructor counted loudly over the music.

“5, 6, 7, and 8, Ava’s group is up next! And a 1, 2,3, 4!”

The blonde leading this particular line is tall and effortlessly graceful in a way the others aren’t, her jumps perfect, her feet gliding across the floor and her face the perfect balance of expressive and focused.

Sara watches her as she grabs a water bottle off of the ground and joins her friend at the back of the line, whispering with small smiles decorating their faces. She grabs the trash bag from the first can by the door and ties it up before tossing it behind her and sinking it into the dumpster effortlessly.

The girls are staring at her now as she crosses the slicked floor even further to reach the trashcan in the far corner, tying that bag up too and looking pointedly anywhere but at the pairs of eyes she could feel following her.

“Who is _that_?” she hears the blonde’s friend, a pretty girl with dark skin and curly black hair, conspiratorially whisper as she gets closer.

“Probably the hoodlum that vandalized the auditorium,” the blonde says with a scoff, not even bothering to keep her voice down.

And oh, her voice.

It’s raspy and pleasant, even as she speaks harshly and keeps a stern face set. Sara turns back towards the pair and cocks an eyebrow.

“Who cares whether or not that’s her, she’s cute,” Sara takes her time tying up the third trash bag, replacing it carefully, making sure she gets all of the corners and bending down slowly to retrieve the bag she’d dropped at her feet.

“I care, Ray has been working on those props for months he was devastated when he came in and saw all of them smashed to pieces.”

Sara feels her ears flush guiltily at that, she really does need to learn how to control herself with alcohol in her system.

“But weren’t you like, just saying last night that you have a thing for uniforms? _And_ blondes?”

Sara turns just in time to see a pretty rosy blush dusting the blonde’s cheeks as she huffs and turns away from her friend. She bounces back into the line to run the 8-count again and Sara is blown away as the girl obviously channels her frustration into her dancing. She’s beautiful and fiery and when she dips down into the splits Sara trips over her roll of extra trash bags and just barely catches herself on the side of her dumpster.

Her dark haired friend giggles and sends her a short finger waggle of a wave before Sara packs up her supplies and flees the room red faced but smirking.

Maybe community service isn’t as bad as she thought.


	2. and in that first moment it seemed to be shining for me alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ava's not sneaky, Sara is a smitten kitten, and they both just wanna dance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back back back back back again, y'all's kudos and comments have been amazing! I'm super grateful for the feedback! This isn't as edited as I'd hoped it'd be lmao but I wanted to post sooner than this whoops, but I hope y'all enjoy! Now on with the show

 

_The first movie Ava Sharpe ever saw was Dancing in the Rain. She remembers it very specifically; her dad had driven her all the way out to the edge of town to the drive-in at Orchid Bay, which, at the time, was the farthest out of the suburbs of Starling City she’d ever been. He parked them right in the middle, so they had the best view of the giant screen and pulled a bag of gummy worms out of the glove compartment for them to share. She remembered curling up in her father’s lap in the front seat of his truck and stared in awe as the people in the movie started talking through the radio, almost like magic._

_“I wanna do that.” She’d stated resolutely, pointing a chubby finger at the screen as Gene Kelly splashed through the rainy Hollywood streets twirling an umbrella and jumping in puddles._

_Her dad had laughed, a deep rumbling sound that washed against the back of her head as she squirmed in his lap._

_“If you’re anything like your old man Ava bear, you won’t be able to carry a tune in a bucket.”_

_Even at the ripe age of 4 she was a force to be reckoned with. ‘She was born to argue,’ he’d say, ‘she’s gonna be a lawyer just like her mama.’_

_She gave him an exasperated sigh she’d learned from watching her mother talk to the people from work on the phone, and made him laugh again._

_“I don’t wanna sing daddy, I wanna dance.”_

 

 

 

Ava is so focused on tying up her pointe shoes and running through the problem spot of her routine in her head that she doesn’t notice the door open until the sound of rhythmic metallic thumping fills her ears.

She looks up from the floor just in time to see her dance partner hobbling shakily toward her on crutches, a sheepish smile flittering onto on his face when their eyes meet. Ava’s heart sinks into her stomach when her eyes catch his right foot cast heavily in a boot.

Her head feels light and she feels like she’s going to crawl out of her skin as every worst possible scenario flits before her eye. She squeezes her eyes closed momentarily and makes herself take a calming breath before she speaks.

“Gary! Oh my god what happened?!”

Gary stops wobbling on his crutches and drops gracelessly into the empty seat next to hers, letting his backpack fall onto the hardwood floor with a thud.

“Ava, I am so, _so_ , sorry. I came down wrong on my ankle in class today, I don’t even know how it happened! But, but, but-” he says hurriedly with a few frenzied waves of his hands, “don’t worry, the doctor said it was just a sprain and I could be back on my feet in 3 to 4 weeks.”

3 to 4 weeks.

Ava physically feels the blood drain from her face as the news sinks in.

3 to 4 weeks.

She’s definitely going to be sick.

She was down a dance partner for 3 to 4 weeks with just months to go before the senior showcase.

“But Ava I swear to you, I will help you find someone to rehearse with until then, I’m so sorry, I know how much this showcase means to you. To the both of us-”

His voice, god bless him, is more annoying than comforting, and her thoughts are attacking her all at once. She just needs it all to stop before it escalates into a full-blown panic attack.

_In for 5 hold for 4 out for 7, in for 5 hold for 4 out for 7, in for-_

“No, it’s fine Gary, really,” she says before he can interject his apologies again, “I’ll work something out, seriously, don’t worry about it.”

She gives him what she hopes is a reassuring smile and it must work because he sends a relieved smile back before he grabs his crutches and hobbles back out the door.

She sighs as she watches the door slam behind him, it leaves the studio in an almost too heavy blanket of silence.

No dance partner, no plans, 2 months until the showcase.

She is _so_ screwed.

 

 

“It’s not _that_ bad.” Amaya says soothingly, they’re seated in the middle section of the noisy cafeteria and the darker haired girl is running a hand down her back as Ava takes an angry bite of the baby carrot in her hand. “At least it wasn’t _you_ that broke your ankle.”

“It actually _is_ that bad, and it’s just a sprain,” The lunchroom is packed and it’s all Ava can do to keep from screaming her frustrations into her lunchbox, “I’m out a dance partner for literally over a month. What the hell am I gonna do?”

“Well first,” Amaya says gently, pulling the bag of carrot sticks from her grasp, “You’re going to stop eating these carrots like you’re a starving horse, if you keep biting that hard you’re going to bite through your tongue or chip a tooth or something.”

Ava rolls her eyes and snatches the bag of carrots back, dunking one angrily in her bowl of ranch before taking an exaggeratedly soft bite of the vegetable.

“Much better, and secondly, you’re going to hold auditions in the studio tomorrow at 4 o’clock. I’ve already blocked off the time with Director Hunter so don’t even worry about that part. Just show up with that overly perfectionist attitude of yours and do what you do best.”

Ava feels her shoulders deflate and she lets her forehead sink down slowly to rest against the wood of the table, “But all of the juniors and seniors are already partnered up for the showcase, they have been for months.”

“Which is why we’re auditioning the freshmen and sophomores, I’ve already put up fliers in the underclassman hallways _and_ I told Mademoiselle Charmaine to let her classes know. You can breathe Ava, everything is going to be ok. Hell, I’ll be your partner if no one else makes the cut.”

 Ava let’s out a shaky breath and finally allows herself to crack a small smile. “You and I both know you wouldn’t be able to lift me.”

The statement garners her an eyeroll and a snow pea flicked at her forehead, “Ava you’re literally 110 pounds of lean muscle, and just because I’m like 3 inches shorter than you doesn’t mean that I don’t have any muscle mass.”

She knows Amaya is trying to make her feel better, but there’s also a voice deep down, one that sounds suspiciously like her dance teacher from 7th grade, whispering in her ear that no one in the freshman and sophomore classes will _actually_ be able to lift her. At least not as often and as quickly as the dance she’s choreographed requires. She was abnormally tall for a dancer, 5’9 almost 5’10, and there was always someone to remind her that her height and subsequently her weight were a stumbling block. Coaches, teachers, partners, her mother.

_“Bigger girls aren’t ballerinas Ava, it’s just the way life works.”_

“What would I do without you?” She asks teasingly, bringing herself back to the present conversation.

“Die probably, sometimes I feel like I’m the only thing holding your life together.”

Ava is the one to throw food this time and Amaya squawks when the carrot hits her squarely between the eyes.

“That was rude.”

Out of the corner of her eye Ava sees the blonde from the day before. She’s decked out in coveralls again, and she’s walking around and wiping down the emptying tables with a washcloth.

Amaya follows her line of sight and she giggles before kicking Ava in the shin underneath the table and drawing her eyes back to her.

On a normal day Ava would describe Amaya as an old soul, level headed, and kind hearted to a fault. But the girl also really, _really_ knows how to get under Ava’s skin.

“Ow! What is your damage today?”

Ava hates the teasing smile she throws her way, hates the way she can feel the blood pooling in her cheeks already, she didn’t even _do_ anything, she had no reason to be embarrassed.

“I know you and Janitor McSexyPants are gonna end up getting married or whatever, but could you please refrain from undressing her with your eyes while you’re in public? It’s unbecoming of a lady.”

“I am not _undressing_ her, I don’t even _know_ her” she hisses under her breath as the blonde passes by their table, she can feel her curious gaze lingering on the back of her neck. God the thought of her overhearing their conversation made her want to die on the spot.

“Funny how I didn’t say her name and you knew immediately who I was talking about,”

“Amaya you literally don’t know her name,” she says quieter this time, aware of the girl’s presence a few chairs back, “And who else could you have possibly been calling ‘Janitor McSexyPants’?”

The dark-haired girl raises an unconvinced eyebrow at her but thankfully doesn’t press the matter further, but Ava can’t help but kick herself while she’s down.

“Besides, I’ve never once even expressed,” she lowers her voice slightly, “romantic interests in girls before, so how are you so convinced that I’m into girls in general, let alone this girl.”

It’s a genuine question. She’d never outright spoken of her attraction to girls to anyone, but it’d always been there, lingering at the surface of every cringeworthy interaction she’d had with boys and every off handed fantasy of hypothetical happily ever afters.

Amaya’s responding laughter does nothing but stoke the flames of the blush that’s already settled deep into her cheeks and crush her battered ego further into the ground.

_Today is really not my day huh?_

“Oh, Ava honey I’m not laughing at you,” Ava rolls her eyes, “I just didn’t realize you were in the closet,” she heaves between labored breaths while wiping tears from her eyes.

“I’m not in the closet or out of any closet, there is no closet. I’ve never liked that metaphor,” Ava stutters with a frown, “I’m just saying you shouldn’t assume things about people Amaya, jeez.”

“Who’s in the closet?” a deep voice resounds from behind them and Nate pulls out the chair next to Ava’s before sitting down with a plop.

“Ava apparently,” Amaya says as she grabs an apple slice from the boy’s tray.

“Ava’s a lesbian?” Nate gasps putting his hand dramatically over his heart.

That had been more the reaction she was looking for. “See? Thank you, Nate.”

“Boys don’t count because they’re oblivious and stupid,” Amaya says delivering a light slap to the burly boy’s shoulder, “I on the other hand, who, as we recall, has been your best friend since the fourth grade, most _definitely_ noticed the time in seventh grade when you came back from your one on one sleepover with Grace Palmeretti sporting a bright red hickey on your neck.”

Ava rolls her eyes and thinks it over for a few seconds before giving a defeated conceding head nod, “that’s actually pretty fair, carry on.”

 

 

 

There’s only about 15 minutes of the last period of the day, a class which she, unfortunately, shares with Nate and Amaya and a few other of her friends that were gathered around their table, waiting impatiently for the final bell to ring. They’re all in a fairly deep conversation about something but Ava mostly tunes them out, choosing to instead focus on the middle section of her routine that didn’t seem to segue as smoothly as she wanted it to into the final portion. She’s in the middle of debating the logistics between piqués and pirouettes when she hears her name come up again.

“Ava will be there too, right?” Nate asks turning toward her as he speaks.

“Oh, most definitely,” Amaya answers offhandedly while doodling music notes onto a page filled with treble clefs.

“Be where exactly?” she says with renewed interest, the pen she was sketching with landing on top of her own open notebook.

“Party of the century at my house,” Nate says drumming his fingers excitedly against the table as Ray nods with an equal amount of hardly contained enthusiasm, “My dad has a four day conference in Coast City and he’s taking my mom with him. Plus, I know where the keys to the liquor cabinet are stashed.”

Ava’s eyebrows draw closer together and before she can even gather her thoughts to form an excuse Amaya gives her a stern look, cutting her off.

“She’ll be there, you’ve been working yourself ragged this week, let yourself take a break, get a little drunk, ooh maybe you can invite JMSP,” she says with an excited waggle of her fingers.

“JM who?”

“Janitor McSexyPants Sharpe, you’ve got to keep up here, it’s crucial your crush has a secret nickname, what else are you going to refer to her as?”

The others sitting around the table ooh and playfully catcall at her at the mention of a crush and Ava bristles. There’s only so much needling she can take into her private life in one day, even if her friends were wildly overexaggerating.

“Well when I actually learn her name, probably that.”

All of their friends oohs again at her rebuttal and the eyes go back to Amaya like they’re watching some sort of verbal tennis match.

“But you admit you’re going to introduce yourself, check and mate Ava Sharpe, this was easier than I thought it’d be.”

The table claps and whoops as the infernal blush that had been haunting Ava all day returned to her face against her will.

The bell rings loudly cutting off any further inane chit chat and Ava silently thanks whatever higher power is out there for bailing her out.

“You’re all insufferable, every last one of you I hope you all know that. I’ll think about the party, catch you guys later.”

She practically speeds to her locker. She can feel herself buzzing with a nervous energy she can’t quite staunch, and it does nothing for the pit of anxiety that seems to constantly sit at the bottom of her stomach. She takes the long way around the building, letting herself take several flights of stairs and a couple of back hallways. She tells herself it’s to avoid the crowds and that it has nothing to do with the racing of her heart.

She’s almost to the floor she needs to be on when she stops abruptly in front of a thin window that overlooks the back of the school, a flash of blonde catching her eye for the second time that day.

The janitor girl, and grievance as far as Ava is concerned, is standing out back by the dumpsters twirling animatedly with what appears to be a couple of her friends. A short dark-haired girl runs around next to the blonde but a taller boy with a closely shaved head hangs uneasily by the side of a car, looking around as if he was waiting for some sort of shoe to drop.

Blonde hair that the girl had pulled into a ponytail whipped around her head as she slipped easily onto her hands and turned her body parallel to the ground, looking like a background dancer out of a Missy Elliot video.

Ava feels her jaw drop open. The girl is amazing, twisting her body and bopping around to some beat that Ava’s own ears couldn’t pick up.

The blonde throws herself back onto her feet and pops her hips side to side before going into a full body roll that has the breath catching in the back of Ava’s throat.

Almost as if the mysterious girl could hear her gasp, she looks up at the window she’s peering out of and Ava steps immediately out of sight, sucking in her stomach and holding her breath as if that would make some sort of difference. She’s mortified at having been caught gawking at someone out of a window like a kid at a zoo.

She holds her position for a few seconds, letting the residual embarrassment fade before casting another careful sidelong glance out of the window.

The blonde kicks up onto one hand and holds onto her feet with the other. She lands solidly and jumps lithely up onto the hood of her car, much to the protest of her friend with the shaved head. She backflipped off the car and landed solidly, causing the shorter dark-haired girl to throw her hands up in the air and do a victory lap around the pricey looking vehicle.

Ava’s eyes snapped back to stare at the car that was, what she assumed based off of their current state of dress, very much out of their price range and rolled her eyes with a scoff before taking off back down the hallway toward her locker.

They’d probably stolen it or something.

And here she was daydreaming about fraternizing with criminals.

_No more distractions._

She repeats it like a mantra on the way to her locker with the same ferocity her catholic grandma uses to recite her prayers, the words pounding heavily into the inside of her skull. She turns the dial of the lock jerkily and yanks the door open, sending various pens and loose sheets of paper flying into the floor.

Dance was, is, and always will be the only priority she tells herself as she scoops the mess she made up off of the ground. She tightens her jaw and grabs both her bookbag and her dance bag, slinging them over her shoulders and making her way toward the direction of the senior parking lot.

She starts her car, a 2004 red VW Bug that was a gift from her father, turns the radio to what she knows is the most annoying pop station on the air and cranks it up. Kelly Clarkson’s voice fills her ears and she feels her heart start to slow to a normal pace as she turns onto the main road. By the time she pulls into her driveway, all thoughts of beautiful blonde janitors are as good as gone.

 

 

Sara is tired.

Tired physically, tired mentally, and, most of all, tired of smelling like the inside of a cafeteria dumpster.

She’s hauling the last load of trash from the school’s lunchroom to the waste bins out back when she hears the telltale sign of Ludacris blasting from the stereos of moving car. She turns around to catch Zari and Mick pulling up to the basketball courts in a shiny white Beemer, courtesy of Jax no doubt.

She still can’t fathom some days how Jax had gone from the poor kid from the Glades that she had first met to the star on the rise that he was now. He had a natural gift with music and lyrics, it wasn’t the talent that Sara doubted, but the fact that someone could go from one day to having nothing to having the world at your fingertips made a little bubble of pride swell in her chest. If someone deserved a one in a million success story it was Jax, and he was well on his way to making it bigger than big.

“You look terrible!” Zari calls to her from the passenger’s side of the car, orange tinted aviators resting precariously on the tip of her nose.

“I feel terrible,” she mutters wiping sweat from her forehead as the car’s engine shuts off, leaving just the music blaring from the speakers, “what’re you two doing here? I thought you were on a job?”

“We didn’t want the captain to miss out on all the fun,” Mick states gruffly, tossing her a Gatorade out of the trunk, “plus neither of us are as good at charming the pants off people as you are.”

Sara grins smugly around the mouth of the sports drink as Zari smacks him in the arm.

“I’m plenty charming.”

“Sure you are Z,” Sara says tossing the now empty bottle at Zari’s head.

“Speaking of charming how are the girls at this school? Got your eye on any hotties? Half the girls I’ve seen look like the ones out of the Candy Shop videos,” Zari’s got the look on her face like she already knows the answer is Sara scrambles a bit to keep her cool.

“They sure don’t dance like ‘em though,” Sara says throwing her hands over her head in a mock ballerina position and hops toward Zari on her tip toes.

“Oh my god,” she hears Mick chuckle as she continues to leap around and spin jerkily, all while keeping her chin at a ridiculous angle.

“What kinda moves would you hit ‘em with Lance?” Zari yells, turning the music up even more with a wide grin.

“Oh you know I’d have to hit them with a little bit of this,” Sara says teasingly popping her shoulders side to side and leaning her hips into the beat.

Sara could feel the tension that had been building all day seep from her body as she moved around the empty basketball court, her feet seemed to glide across the pavement, barely making a noise as she popped and locked and whipped her hair around to the heavy beats rattling through the speakers of the borrowed car.

She spins on the toe of her shoe and lays down into the splits before popping immediately back up to her feet. She jumps up onto her hands and slowly rolls her body parallel to the ground before laying down and kicking back up to her feet, laughing when Zari throws a pelvic thrust her way.

She winks at Mick and throws him a full body roll that has him rolling his eyes when something catches her eye in one of the windows.

The tall dancer girl from earlier is watching her, or was watching her, she had disappeared quickly from sight no sooner than Sara had turned around.

Sara smirked and upped her moves a little, knowing that the girl would still be watching. She kicked up onto her hands and grabbed her feet midair, holding her position before doing a standing flip that had Zari and Mick whooping behind her. She throws in some fancy footwork and holds a pose for a few beats before jumping up onto the hood of the car and launches herself into the air. The double backflip has Zari cheering and Mick grumbling as he goes to turn the music down.

A flash of blonde hair races past the window and Sara smiles quickly to herself before turning back to her friends.

“Were you not enjoying the show?” she asks innocently fluttering her eyelashes at Mick who remains stoic.

“We talked about having some respect for the cars,” he growls, wiping away a nonexistent dirt smudge from the polished white hood.

“He does have a point Cap.”

“You both can sit down because we all know that car is Jax’s, what’s wrong with your clunker Mick? It in the shop again?”

Zari slugs her arm as Mick turns around to stare her down.

“Someone lost their driving privileges,” he says with an unamused cock of his eyebrow before jumping back into the car and turning the ignition, Zari following suit with a snicker.

“No! Wait! I’ll play nice!”

 

 

The studio is oddly full when Sara brings the ladder in to start on washing the floor to ceiling windows. Usually most of the dancers were filing out around this time, leaving Sara with the privilege of utilizing the stereo while she finishes up her cleaning for the day.

But she has no such luck today as the room fills with bright eyed excited looking dancers of all shapes and sizes. A loud clapping resounds around the room and Sara has to do a double take when she’s sees the leggy blonde dancer commanding attention at the front of the group.

“Alright everyone! Single file line please and thank you!” The crowd settles as she addresses them and they all seem to vibrate with an eager energy, “Yes, thank you, now that we’ve got that settled, welcome to the open auditions for the senior showcase. As most of you hopefully know, my partner, Gary, has been put out of commission very suddenly leaving an empty space in my program. Everyone please be ready to go when I call your names, we’ll be starting with the lift.”

The auditions start and Sara takes her place at the top of the ladder, bringing her wiper down in smooth clean strokes as not to leave streaks on the massive window. The music plays lightly behind her and Sara finds her strokes falling into the pattern of the tall blonde’s loud rhythmic counting.

Every glimpse she gets of the tryouts going on behind her is a test of Sara’s resilience not to break out into laughter. The dancers are just _bad_ , stiff with nerves or just not skilled enough yet to properly execute the moves the blonde was trying to have them do. Every lift nearly ended with the poor girl in the floor, leaving Sara feeling sorry for her as she moved from window to window.

Every screech of “Next!” added an inch to the smile spreading across her face. The girl was obviously dedicated and determined, not taking mediocracy for an answer, and that was something Sara could get behind. Go big or go home.

The music stopping had Sara blinking out of her reverie unsure of how much time had passed. She turned around only to find an empty room staring back at her and the blonde that was holding the auditions slumped defeatedly in one of the chairs lining the mirrors.

“What am I gonna do,” the girl mutters as she rakes her hands down to cover the dejected look painting her face.

Sara frowns and hops down a few rungs, wiping her free hand on the pants of her coveralls as she debates saying something to the obviously distressed dancer.

Zari always said she had a weakness for sad pretty girls.

“Alright, alright, I’ll do it,” she hears herself saying as she hops onto the slick wood ground, planting her feet and turning to face the girl that was now staring at her through cautious narrowed eyes.

“Do what?” she asks sharply, not making a move to get up from her position on the metal folding chair.

“That, that thing whatever you were just trying to do,” she says gesturing to the floor with her window wiper causing a few errant drops to fall to the ground beneath her.

“You want to lift me? Are you kidding?” The girl sounds incredulous and looks angry and _damn_ if it isn’t doing something for Sara. Her face is expressive, and her jawline is sharp, and she could almost feel the tension sitting in the other girl’s neck and shoulders. She looked poised, ready to bolt, like she was only being tethered to this moment by the preposterous suggestion coming out of Sara’s mouth.

“Does it look like I’m kidding?”

She scoffs again and Sara wonders briefly if she’s done something to anger her specifically.

“Ok, I get it, you know, you’re not going to use me to get out of cleaning the windows, even if you _were_ capable of dancing.”

Her nose is turned up making her look haughtier than Sara suspects she actually is, and she’s pointedly avoiding her eyes. Sara raises a questioning eyebrow at her and moves closer in an attempt to make eye contact.

“Ok, well I’m not trying to get out of anything,” the girl rolls her eyes and finally looks at Sara with what she guessed was a rebuttal on her lips, “and I know you saw me dancing the other day.”

Whatever the taller girl was going to say died on her tongue and a blush rose to her cheeks and Sara had to hold back the full-blown grin threatening to explode onto her face.

“Thank you,” she says slowly, almost as if it pains her, “but I can find someone else.”

Sara nods slowly, smug grin still in place, “Ok, ok, I was just trying to help.”

She grabs her wiper and saunters slowly toward the doors of the studios, swinging her hips teasingly.

“Ok, wait.”

Bingo.

She turned back around to face the girl as silence stretched between them. The girl seemed to be waging some sort of invisible war against herself, but Sara watched her eyes soften a fraction as a decided breath huffed from her lips.

“Catch me.”

And she does.

Sara cradles her slim waist in the palms of her hands and lifts the girl easily over her head. She spins slightly on the balls of her feet before dropping her carefully into a cradle in her arms, her cheeks heating slightly when hands instinctively reach to loop around her neck.

“Now what?” she whispers, slightly more breathless than she expected to be now that she was only a few centimeters away from blue eyes and a smattering of freckles across a tan nose.

“Uh, um, put me down.”

Sara drops her carefully to her feet and the girl strides quickly away avoiding making eye contact with her once more.

“Ok fine,” she says unevenly while packing her things quickly into her duffel bag, “meet me here after school everyday at 3:30, bring your tights.”

Sara fist pumped and turned in a quick circle before the other girl could turn around to see her lose her cool. She was going to get to dance, _hopefully_ , for her community service, with one of the prettiest girls she had ever seen on top of that.

The taller blonde shouldered her bag and fixed Sara with an expectant glare before she realized she hadn’t said anything in return.

“Alright, yeah cool, cool,” she stuttered out with what she hoped was an indifferent shrug as the girl turned to stalk back out of the wooden double doors.

“Wait, tights?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be ready by the finale but it's 3 am and I'm just now posting :-) Lemme know what y'all think! hit up my tumblr @luthorsandsupers

**Author's Note:**

> AHH the first chunk is out! Lemme know what y'all think! come yell at me on tumblr @luthorsandsupers !!


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